And In Rising Every Time We Fall
by FantasySeventeen
Summary: Sometimes, one has the oddest thoughts as one dies...


Author: FantasySeventeen  
Title: And In Rising Every Time We Fall  
Pairing: Harry/Severus  
Rating: T  
Warnings: Contains the idea of character death (nothing violent, I promise you), as well as some rather injudiciously-placed stream of consciousness.  
Disclaimer: It's not mine, really. Promise. And here's to the wonderful yahoo group, SeverusSighs, for such wonderful response to this story.  
Author's Notes: Please review. It really makes my day.

* * *

He fell down, down, down. He almost couldn't imagine the depth, wherever it was that he was going. The thought briefly flashed through his head – he was falling _down_. Did that say something about the destination of his soul? Or was he being too analytical again, as Severus would say?

(The thought flashed through his mind – crazy, really, why would Snape ever say he was too analytical about something? But there is was, the memory burned in his mind, but he couldn't _feel_ anything. Or maybe he was analyzing again – was he supposed to feel memories? Or was it even a memory? He couldn't even remember; did one remember memories or did someone memorize a memory or-)

He finally stopped, stopped, stopped, slowing to a sudden halt. (But wait, how did one slow to a halt? Wasn't that directly contradictory in terms, definitions? Perhaps his mind was muddled; it must have been the spell that did it-)

He suddenly, illogically, completely rationally, fervently needed Severus. Missed him. Yearned for him. (Not his touch, no, didn't that get him into this mess?) But that support, the steady, heady, exhilarating and exhausting eternal presence that Severus simply exuded. Here, in the dark (Snape liked the dark, didn't he, the dark, dingy, great bat-), here, where all light had abandoned him, as well as any touch, any feeling…

Light and feeling flooded his senses, making him wish again for that comforting and terrible darkness. (But how can light and feeling flood? The word _flood_ implied a liquefied body, one very low in viscosity; light was not anything, really, not a solid, a liquid, a gas…and neither was feeling. Feelings were intangible, so what about human nature wanted to prescribe such actions to inanimate things? To make the uncertain things in life certain, by giving them substance, actions, actions that humans could imagine, could relate to-)

He was overwhelmed, completely, utterly, and totally in control of what he saw, what he wanted to experience. He could feel that much, amid the rush of feeling too much and not enough at the same time. (This wasn't quite what he imagined, he thought to himself. It was supposed to be dark, grim, deadly, a lack of anything, pain, pain, pain, HURT-)

A chuckle interrupted. It rolled, deep, shrill, full, hollow, throughout the place he inhabited. (Again, could a chuckle, a mere sound, roll? Did humans simply feel so insecure they needed to attribute such base and concrete actions to intangible and thus unexplainable things? Did-)

"Oh, my poor boy," that chuckle said. (Could a chuckle say something? Or was his perception merely skewed by what, indefinitely, had put him in this situation? For that matter, what was his situation? His memory was being forgotten, now, he could remember that much. He wanted Severus, wanted, wanted, wanted, _wanted_-)

"Dear, dear child," the chuckle continued. "You must know; you must understand what is happening. Without that small comfort, you will be ripped apart. You will scatter, coalesce, my dear child, and I cannot take that. So small, my boy, but so large, in so many ways. So much ambience, my boy, such that even you cannot comprehend."

He stumbled in his dark, a metaphorical and literal screeching halt to whatever motion had before commanded his limbs. (What was motion? Physics claimed motion was a product of force, but couldn't force be a product of motion, from a philosophical standpoint? He knew he had felt his heart move before, move with such intensity, such listlessness that it drove his mind, a mind that worked with forces, not motion. A mind worked theoretically, which was all a force was. It was invisible, intangible, just like light and feelings and chuckles and rolling and flooding and wanting, wanting, wanting, _wanting_-)

He saw no need to respond. He saw no way to respond. After all, why did he need to?

The chuckle sobered. "Your lover, my boy, has caused this to happen. He could not let go."

_The wind blew through his hair, a soft touch raking the black strands away from his eyes, a soft breeze that, for once, didn't hurt. His purpose here let him ignore his pain, for once, let him focus on something more than himself, more than the pain of the person supporting him._

"_Severus, please," he whispered, the only sound he was capable of forcing through his weak and pain-ridden throat. "Please, I want to see the ocean. The cliff." He knew he hadn't needed to say it aloud, that Severus would have understood, but it felt good to have that tangible noise, that connection. It would be among the last he would ever create with this man._

_Severus looked at him, a deep grief and hopelessness that he had not managed to hide despite all desperate attempts to do so. "Why?" The one word made him smile, made Severus frown at his smile. _

"_I want to fly, one last time." It was really selfish, wasn't it, putting it like that? He remembered how he used to view Severus, as the dark and harsh Potions Master, one who was incapable of love. He remembered how that Severus used to call him selfish. Who was he to argue, now, when he was about to commit such a selfish act?_

_In his own defense, it was to save his family and friends. He knew they couldn't bear to see him wasting away like this, to see his body trapping and confining his still ever-racing mind. But that was selfish too, wasn't it? He knew that he was doing this because he couldn't bear to see his friends burdened with that knowledge, that he was helpless and dying, dying, dying…_

The chuckle pulled him back. "You remember, don't you? I ask you to recall, one last time, my boy, why you are here. I cannot explain it to you…of all things, I cannot touch your mind. That is not mine to influence."

_He could see the rocks, the ocean pounding relentlessly against the cliff face. He could imagine the futile efforts present before him. Nature never seemed to get the hint. Despite the rocks, the waves kept on trying to push forward; despite the pull toward sleep and comfort, his body still kept on trying to live. To feel. It was one of his fervent thanks, that he could still feel love and joy, despite the pain. At least nature had not robbed him of that. _

_He felt Severus turn him around, slowly. He knew Severus knew what he was about to do, how much this hurt him. He also knew that his next words were going to be the most difficult he had ever said; the most difficult that any person could ever say to the one they loved._

"_I need you to do something for me, Severus. Just one last thing." He knew it was selfish, bad, horrible of him to manipulate his lover into acquiescing like that, but couldn't he have one moment to be selfish, after such suffering, after such hurt and agony?_

"_Anything, I promise you." He smiled weakly. He felt horrible, and relieved, to have this given to him, at last._

"_Let go."_

_He fell._

The chuckle pulled together, dragging all the light that surrounded him and drew itself into one gleaming figure. No features could be seen, nothing that could hint at any identity to his chuckle. (Of course, why did he need features? Were humans so limited that they needed to identify by physical attributes? What happened to emotions, feelings, auras, those intangible things that floated around everyone? They were unique to everyone, and if he knew how to do it, those were more vibrant, more vivid and useable as markers that they were more useful than-)

"Once more, dear one. You need to remember just once more, and then you will understand. Once more, my boy, delve back…"

_He fell. _

_He fell, and fell, and fell. He wanted, wanted, wanted, wanted…_

_And suddenly, he felt that presence, that comfort. He wanted no more. _

_But something was wrong._

His Severus never could, could he? He knew, even when he'd asked, that Severus was incapable of letting go. He didn't mind, because it was nice, but now it hurt. It hurt them both. He hadn't minded then, because he liked it. It was protection, it was suffocating. It was security. (But now, he wasn't supposed to be secure. Security was limiting, freedom demanded restrictions. What was he if not free, now, finally? He needed nothing physical, no such meager things as motion, or forces, when he could have floods and feelings and auras and wanting, wanting, wanting, _wanting_…)

But he wasn't supposed to want anymore. His head whipped around, around and around and around until he was dizzy. He knew then, that he was looking in the wrong way. He needed nothing physical…

He felt him then, felt him as he'd felt him before, but deeper, deeper, deeper. He looked up (need he look, really?) and caught Severus as Severus stopped his falling. He knew Severus was seeing the dark, couldn't see the non-physical light, couldn't see the…

"The universe, my boy."

Ah. It made sense, now. The universe, after all, had physics and motion and forces, but it didn't really need those. People needed those, and the universe obliged. The universe needed feelings, and floods…and auras. He understood. He understood wanting, wanting, wanting…

_Wanting_.

He grabbed his Severus, those tangible and wholly unnecessary tears (flooding, perhaps?) somehow reaching the floor, even when the floor wasn't needed. But it was there, because someone there wanted it to be. Not needed, no…but wanted. And he understood wanting.

He had not wanted to die. He had not wanted to fall. But he had not wanted to sleep. He would not ever want to sleep. He would not sleep. Falling was quick, and painless. Sleep only promised more pain, because if one was not dying, then one must wake up. He was dying, but not in sleep. Nature would not allow it.

…no. The universe would not allow it.

"And now you understand, my boy."

Oh, yes. He _understood_. It was almost as powerful as the wanting. The wanting created the universe, though, and the understanding only gave a reason for that wanting to exist. But the wanting would exist without understanding, without reason.

He still _wanted_, even though he understood he need not want anymore. But he also understood that wanting gave him himself. Wanting kept him with his Severus.

"He never could let go," the universe, that chuckle, said. (Did it say something about himself, then, that he thought of the universe as a chuckle? Did he need to define the universe, really? No, but he wanted to, because he liked labeling things. It was still too much engrained in him, too much a part of him. He was dying, dead, but he still remembered being human, and humans labeled, defined, when they didn't need to but wanted to-)

"He has pulled himself here, my boy, because he wanted to, and you wanted him to want to. You have become too connected, dear child, in your wanting each other. Sometimes, I must allow you to want. Where would I be without want?" The universe chuckled. (So, did the chuckle chuckle? That would mean the thing is now defining itself through actions, and what were actions if not more physical attempts to define, constrict? The universe was a truly maddening place, all wants and not-needed things and floods and auras and still more wanting, wanting, wanting, _wanting_-)

"Your wanting is too strong for me, my boy. I work without limits, without restrictions, and so I must bow to those limitless things that are stronger than I. I exist only as a conglomeration of everyone else's wants, so if any one of them stood up against me, I am less. Do you understand, my dear boy?"

Oh, yes, he understood. He and Severus still wanted. Wanted, wanted, wanted, in a physical and limiting sense. Wanted his aura and his feeling, but in a physical way. Wanted to be near, to have his comfort, to have him _there_, right next to him.

But now he knew he could have that, because the physical didn't matter. If he wanted, he wanted. He could want everywhere, no matter where he was, because without physical limitations, he _was_ everywhere, and so would Severus be. They would not need the wanting together, because they would be together.

And so, for one last time, one last shred of humanity using itself up before he shed his limitations, he wanted, wanted, wanted, _wanted_ Severus to understand too.

And he could feel, finally, when the chuckle dimmed away. (It didn't really dim, now, did it? Because light was physical, too, no matter how much humans couldn't define it – but wasn't that the point? Definitions are limitations, and they won't work, because the universe, the accumulation of everyone's wants, doesn't want them to; they want limitations to be _not_, even if they don't understand-)

But he became part of that chuckle, and he could feel Severus struggle to understand. At the same time, he felt others, others not so controlled by wanting, wanting, wanting, that they automatically understood and became another part, indistinguishable from the whole because they were seamless, flawless, one big part that had never been any more than itself.

And he, the whole chuckle, the whole universe, finally smiled when Severus understood.

Harry felt Severus, and welcomed him as another part that disappeared into the whole, and felt it disappear, because it wasn't needed anymore, that wanting, wanting, wanting, _wanting_…


End file.
